Objects of Desire

Chapter 10 - And So This Is Christmas

By Azrael Geffen

“You’ll like it, I promise you will.”

Ron frowned and shivered. It was cold in the room despite the fire they had lit. He wished he had his shirt on, he wished he wasn’t there at all. “I…I don’t want…”

“Oh come on, Ronald,” Angelina laughed throatily, “are you scared?”

“No,” Ron sounded unconvincing, “of course I’m not scared.”

“You’ll like it, I wouldn’t give you something you wouldn’t like.” She kissed him, smothering his mouth with hers. As she pulled away, a thin stream of spit dripped down Ron’s chin. He hadn’t moved his mouth at all, hadn’t met her tongue with his, but he’d closed his eyes, his head tilted up to hers. She pulled away and laughed at his mesmerized expression.

Ron was going to do whatever she wanted and he knew he was. He was edging towards her control gradually,tentative and mistrusting as one would edge down a stony cliff to the sea, and knowing full well what dangers would lie along that path, but taking it anyway, courting the danger whilst he pretended to defy it.

“I’ll suck your cock if you do it,” Angelina cajoled, “now I know you’d like that.”

“No...I…”

She reached her hand down to caress his balls and his words dissolved into a harsh hissing sound as air rushed in through his gritted teeth.

“We should go back to the house,” Ron said pointlessly. They weren’t going anywhere. Not yet. She began to unbutton his jeans.

“Oh come on Ronnie, It won’t hurt.” Angelina pouted, her hand still caressing his balls. Ron looked away, his blue eyes felt the first sting of tears and he blinked them back. She wasn’t going to get that out of him.

“Stop,” he said quietly, not wanting her to stop but willing her to come to her senses and realize what she was doing.

“Now Ronnie,” Angelina said, losing her patience, “I am offering you something you’ll like, and I am offering to give you a blow job to go with it. You’re just trying to be difficult. You wouldn’t want George to find out about this now would you?”

“You wouldn’t tell,” Ron replied uncertainly, “you wouldn’t risk your marriage.”

Angelina laughed bitterly. “My marriage? Is that what you call it? Do you know how long it has been since George and I actually fucked? It ceased to be a marriage when he screwed that little slut in London.”

Ron had no idea about any ‘little slut’ in London. The secrets and betrayals of his brother’s marriage had been a mystery to him and he wished that they had remained as such. He knew was that he was doing something that was wrong by just being there with her. When he had come outside, to the garden shed he once hid in as a boy, he should have known she would follow. He wondered for a moment if he did know and that the knowledge was father to the impedance to go. “Why don’t you leave then?” he asked, his breath catching as she reached her hand into his jeans and began to masturbate him.

“Oh, I’ll leave him,” she smiled, “I just have a few things I have to do first.” She lowered her face and took his cock into her mouth and he gasped, feeling suddenly surrounded by wet heat. He closed his eyes tight, wishing he were someone else, a good brother, Charlie. Angelina worked him expertly, stimulating him with her tongue. She kept her head relatively still, mouthing and tonguing the head of his penis and masturbating the shaft with her quick hands. Ron’s hands began to close, grasping at the blanket beneath him and his hips bucked up into her mouth as he came, silently stifling his cries and groans with his tightly sealed mouth.

“I think you liked that,” Angelina licked stray drops of come from her lips. He nodded absently, unable to speak lest he sob, not willing to tell her it was his first blowjob, that it was the first time that anyone had ever touched him so intimately and that it had been so shamefully good. “Now,” Angelina commanded, “Hold out your arm.”

He did so and he wrapped a silk cord around it, tightening it around his bicep. He watched her do it and realized that he was unbuttoned, his wet and flaccid penis just lying there for all the world to see. “Can I do my pants up?” he mumbled and she laughed and buttoned his jeans.

 He watched as she cooked up. He had no idea how she had come across the drug, only that she had. She was a skilled potion maker and herbologist. She could have grown the poppies herself, extracted the opiate and baked the heroin in a standard cauldron in her kitchen. It was a simple enough process, and opium poppies were an easy enough commodity to buy in the Wizarding World. Many Purebloods still ate opium as a painkiller and it could be purchased from any Apothecary.

“It won’t hurt much,” she said, “only a little prick – you should be used to that.”

He flushed hot and she brushed the baby soft skin in the crook of his elbow – and slid the needle into his vein.

He flinched. She untied his arm and the drug suddenly coursed through him in the rush of blood.

The nausea hit him almost instantly, and he scrambled forward, pushing past her and vomiting the contents of his stomach onto the dirt floor. They were not near the house and the small part of his brain that could still register logic was thankful for that. No one would be coming out to investigate the noise.

The vomiting stopped as suddenly as it started and he fell back, away from the sticky puddle. He clawed his way to the blanket and collapsed onto his back, staring unseeing at the roof, unable to move as euphoria washed over him.

Angelina lit a cigarette and watched him for a moment. No smile crossed her face, and no emotion flickered in her countenance. She inhaled the cigarette deeply and stared at him. He really was a beautiful boy, if you liked boys with freckles, which Angelina most certainly did. Ron Weasley had inherited the best of the Weasley family’s physical traits. He had Percy’s height and slenderness, which meant he looked good in Muggle jeans and shirts, and he had Bill’s features. A finely boned face, long slender nose with soft fleshy lips and bright blue eyes. Those eyes were lost in wonder now and he was mumbling “rats in paradise” over and over again. His hair had grown longer in the last few months and looked far better than the short cut Fred and George had convinced him to get at the start of the school year.

He missed Charlie, she knew that, they all knew that. She had to admit that she missed Charlie herself – all those nights spent on sheets sodden with sweat and tears and semen. But she would never sully Charlie’s name by revealing that affair. No, she would revenge herself on George in another way. This way. With Ron she would not find the comfort that she had found with Charlie. No, Ron was useful in an altogether different way.

She stood and walked away from him. Leaving him to the cold. He couldn’t feel it now anyway.

“Merry Christmas Ron,” she muttered and flicked her cigarette butt at him. He didn’t speak, he just stared vacantly at the roof and at whatever visitations he was having there. She closed the door of the garden shed and returned to the house and her sleeping husband who no doubt hadn’t noticed that she was gone.

~ ~ ~

Hermione was speeding forwards is a howl of wind and swirling color with the Portkey magnetically attached to her hand. She had never liked traveling by Portkey and despite knowing that she was being spirited away to safety, the wind pressed hard on her broken body and made the journey that much more unbearable. Given the alternative, however, and she would have stayed here in this storm for eternity. Just so long as she was safe, just so long as she was as far away from Krum as she could possibly get.

Her feet slammed into the ground so unexpectedly that she sprawled forward, her face hitting the floor. She almost laughed, if her face hadn’t already been pulp, it probably would have hurt.

Around the small room, wall sconces ignited and cast the chamber in a yellow glow. It was warm in here, it could lull her to sleep if she was not careful, and that made her panic. She couldn’t pass out yet. She needed to get help. Her own survival instincts kicked in and she tried to push herself up. It didn’t work. One eye was full of blood, her ears were ringing, one wrist broken and the other arm useless due to the muscle damage in her shoulder.  She curled herself into a fetal position and wondered why in hell she was still alive.

“Welcome to Malfoy Manor,” she gurgled through the blood in her throat and laughed. She was aware only of the throbbing pain in her body and the fact that the pain meant she was still alive and for that she should be thankful. After she lay there for a moment she began to discern other sensations. Warm air on her skin, she shivered in spite of it. She was naked. Harry was going to find her naked. She had never been naked in front of a man before and now she was going to be naked in front of Harry. And probably Draco too. The absurdity of her fear crystallized in her head. It didn’t matter that she was naked, as long as she was safe. Harry would keep her safe, because that is what Harry did. Harry would look after her. Her Harry, all hers.

A sound forced her to look up. Someone or something was standing over her and for a brief, terrifying moment she thought Krum had followed her. But this being had not Krum’s height. It was a small thing, it did not lumber up to her. It did not smell of sweat and hate and it wasn’t yelling obscenities at her. It stood beside her and looked down at her form. This little thing was not Krum, it was a House Elf.

“Miss?” came a timid voice, “Can Posie help you Miss?”

Posie? Posie the House Elf. How original. She tried to smile, wanting to be nice and polite to the little creature, but nothing worked. She forced her throat to choke back blood and whispered, “H-Harry P-Potter.”

The Elf trembled, tentatively touching Hermione’s cheek and bringing forth a whimper from Hermione.

“P-please,” she sobbed, “please get H-Harry.”

The elf bowed its head, eyes wide and frightened. Posie had no idea who the girl was or what terrible calamity had befallen her, but Posie did know that interrupting her Master while he was…well, there had been talk about exactly what the Master was doing with Harry Potter…it was not a task Posie relished taking on.

She looked back to the sobbing girl on the floor. Blood was beginning to pool under her and Posie decided that she would just have to face her Master’s wrath. This girl needed help. She nodded silently and Apparated.

~ ~ ~

“I’m not saying I have to get married,” Minerva slurred. Her wine glass was tilting dangerously and Melville was hovering anxiously by her arm with a napkin lest she stain the rug. “I mean, I’ve already been married, but he won’t even ask me. He just seems to think it’s fine to continue on like this – forever!”

Snape scowled and relaxed. He figured if she was talking about her love life, then she wasn’t talking about his. Although it was only a matter of time before she was. “Well,” he said, holding his wine glass up to the firelight and checked the body of the red, “it has been a long time, Minerva. Perhaps he believes in the old adage, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

“I’ll give him ‘broke’,” she grumbled, and Snape couldn’t help but laugh. He had been born and raised in this house and Minerva McGonagall was the first real houseguest he’d ever had. That is if you didn’t include Lucius, the son his father wished he’d had. It felt alien to sit in his lounge room with a friend and a glass of wine. Minerva had curled her feet up under her and was nestled into his father’s old chair. He had never been able to see that chair as a thing of comfort. He had seen his father sit in it for far too long. It was old and threadbare. His family, like so many Purebloods, came from countless generations of Wizards who used the Ministry as a ruse but ruled the Wizarding World behind closed doors using their blood as their claim to power. Their money was gone, the sofas were threadbare and their jackets were tatty but his grandfather wore them, so it was alright. It was no wonder Severus was such a disappointment. He saw the family for what it really was.

Looking at Minerva curled in that chair, all wrapped in red velvet and glowing in the firelight, he could almost imagine the house being full of light. Almost. He just had to learn how to look a little deeper.

“And of course,” Minerva continued, “he won’t marry me, but he still expects me to spread my…”

“Minerva!” He held his hand up quickly, “that’s quite enough information, I assure you.” The last thing Severus needed to know was that a man in his hundreds was enjoying a more fulfilling sex life than he was. He wondered how Hermione would look curled in that chair. All dressed in red velvet. Her hair falling wild around her shoulders, her eyes wide and dark with passion. His cock stirred and the pleasant tendrils of his drunk invaded his brain. He allowed himself to be lulled into a fantasy that this house was somewhere good, that his Father had been a kindly man and that sex with Hermione was a thing he could possibly have.

Snape found himself smiling stupidly at his waking dream. He could thank the case of excellent Merlot that Minerva had brought with her. He knew he was getting drunk. He knew it because he was relaxing and instead of being grateful for being away from Hermione, he was getting wistful and wishing she was here. Then again, who was he kidding? He had been wishing she was here with him since he arrived that morning. He was relaxing, every muscle started to unknot. He should write to her; tell her where he was. Ask her to their party. Just get her here so he could bury his face in her hair.

He would miss getting her letter in the morning. He’d given the address to the owlery, but he was fairly certain she would be pissed off when she realized that he had gone away. It had seemed a good idea not to tell her, a good way of putting her off. But as the day progressed he had realized he really didn’t want to put her off. He liked getting letters from her, he liked feeling that kind of emotion. He’d responded to it in kind. He couldn’t help it, she roused in him a desire he had never felt before.

While he was slowly sinking into a drunken state, he was well aware that Minerva was well and truly there. She had gone through her giggly phase and was now entrenched in her sloppy, slurring, Albus is a bastard phase.

Snape smiled, had he been anywhere else, if Hermione had been here, he could almost consider himself happy.

Minerva tilted her head back and drained her glass and it filled up instantly. Damn that House Elf was good. He’d forgotten just how convenient it was to have them running around the house. Melville had resumed napkin watch. Snape was tempted to tell him not to worry. The rug was ancient and not of a particularly good quality. They should just throw it out.

“So,” Minerva leveled her drunken gaze at him, “tell me about Miss Hermione Granger.”

He closed his eyes, he knew it would come. It had no doubt been part of her plan. Get him drunk, make him relax, then move in for the kill. He laughed – and he couldn’t believe he laughed. “What do you want to know about Miss Hermione Granger?” he asked, amused to find he would probably tell her anything she wanted to know. He wondered just how much he’d had to drink. Obviously he was not just starting to get drunk, he was there, in the zone.

The fireplace roared into life and they both jumped, dousing the rug and the unfortunate Melville in wine. The Elf muttered something and headed down to the kitchens for the cleaning salts. Dumbledore’s head was floating in the fire.

“Albus!” Minerva giggled, “we were just talking about you.”

Dumbledore didn’t reply at first and they instantly knew that something was wrong. Normally he would make some kind of quip at Minerva’s expense and they would trade insults back and forth before Albus got down to business. Not so now. Now he was silent. There was no twinkle in his eye. He looked fearsome and stern and alarmingly old.

“What’s wrong Albus?” Minerva asked, her voice was tinged with a sort of panic. She had not seen him look this way since the war, she had never wanted to see him look this way again. “Has something happened.”

“Minerva, Severus,” Dumbledore’s voice was strained. He sounded shocked. “There has been an incident at the school. I need you to go to Malfoy Manor. I’m sending Poppy to you.”

~ ~ ~

Harry and Draco lay side by side, staring at the ceiling, bathed in sweat and panting lightly. The reek of sex pervaded the room. A strange smell of sweat and semen and musky arousal.

Oh fucking hell, Harry thought desperately, I told him I love him, how fucking stupid could I get?

Oh you fucking idiot, Draco thought desperately, why didn’t you say something, anything! He just told you that he loves you and you didn’t say anything. You big fucking dolt.

Then the same thought hit them like a bolt of lightening. The sex had been incredible. Mind fucking blowing, in-fucking-credible.

“Are you alright?” Draco asked at last, knowing that he had to tend his lover, seeing as he had just pounded pretty damn hard into Harry’s body and he would be amazed if the poor guy could still walk.

“Yeah,” Harry breathed, “I’m ok.”

At the sound of Harry’s voice, Draco felt emotion wash over him and he rolled to kiss Harry, lovingly caressing Harry’s face with his sensitive fingers.

“Did I hurt you baby?”

“No,” Harry lied. Not unless you count not saying anything at all when I told you I loved you.

“You’re so beautiful,” Draco whispered, stroking Harry’s cheek.

Yeah, but you don’t love me now, do you? “Not as beautiful as you,” Harry replied.

They kissed deeply, Harry realizing that he was going to have to take comfort from loving gestures and the warmth of Draco’s arms and kisses. It was not hard to do. Draco’s body was willing, his touch more that making up for any words left unsaid. Still, Harry wished he’d said something. Even if it was just to say that Draco liked him very much. He relaxed into the kiss, seeking Draco’s tongue with his own.

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Draco lifted his head and frowned. He sat up, muttering “Lumos” as he did so. The room was bathed in a soft light and Draco reached for his bathrobe before demanding whom ever it was enter. The door opened and the uneasy face of a House Elf peered into the room.

One thing Harry had noticed, the House Elves, with the exception of the imperious Non, were terrified of their Master. Harry wondered exactly how Draco would be treating them if he wasn’t on his best behavior for Harry. He watched as Draco glared at the Elf impatiently, and the Elf looked back with it’s terrified, orb like eyes.

“Well?” Draco snapped, “What do you want?”

“M-m-master, if you please, Master Draco, Sir, M-Mr Harry Potter has a visitor.”

Harry turned the glare to Harry, “are you expecting anyone?”

“No,” Harry sat up himself, “only you and Hermione know I’m here.”

“Who is it?” Draco demanded.

“A girl, Master Draco Sir, Posie didn’t get her name. She has been hurt Sir, She asked for Harry Potter.”

Harry and Draco exchanged looks. It had to be Hermione. But hurt? How?

“Is she hurt badly,” Draco asked, hesitating before he spoke. The Elf looked even more frightened, mistaking Draco’s hesitant tone for a slow building anger. She held up her long fingered hands, covered in Hermione’s blood.

Harry was suddenly scrambling to find clothes. He barely managed to pull a pair of Draco’s pajama pants on before he was out the door and running for the stairs. Draco, the more prudent and self conscious of them, found another pair of pajama pants, belted his dressing gown and grabbed his wand before setting out after Harry. The House Elf struggled to keep pace before remembering that she had the advantage of being able to Apparate around the house. In the end she beat the boys by a full ten seconds.

~ ~ ~

Professor’s Snape and McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey had arrived at Malfoy Manor only minutes after Harry and Draco had found Hermione. Madam Pomfrey, in her usual brisk manner, had taken charge with ease and authority. Within seconds a stretcher had been conjured and Hermione placed gently on it. The boys had then taken her upstairs and placed her in Draco’s bed. Draco had then appointed two House Elves to assist Madam Pomfrey with anything she needed and they had been ushered from the room.

Harry was pacing the lounge. He had been shivering with cold until Minerva lit the fire. Then Draco had found him a jumper to cover the fact that he was half naked. Snape was staring out of the window in stony silence. Draco gnawed at his thumbnail and Minerva sat staring into the fireplace as if expecting Dumbledore to appear there at any moment. It was evident to all four of them that Viktor Krum really did not have a long time to live. A matter of days, weeks perhaps, or if he was lucky, months. Certainly less than a year. What was uncertain was who would get him first, Harry or Snape.

Harry’s tactic was to strike while the iron was hot, while his anger was so great that he could just murder a man. Snape worked better with stealth. He knew full well that Krum had managed to flee and that by the time Potter found him, his rage would have subsided and he would think twice about killing him. Not so for Snape. He would track him down and he would slowly, painfully, take Krum apart, piece by rotten Bulgarian piece. 

Then there was what they had walked into. Both Snape and McGonagall were a little taken aback. They had arrived to find Harry picking Hermione up from the floor; he was still covered in her blood. The first question to almost race from both of them was simple; what in hell was Harry Potter doing at Malfoy Manor, wearing nothing but a pair of pajama pants that were obviously not his own – the monogrammed ‘D’ on the back pocket being the biggest clue as to who did own them. Now that Poppy was upstairs taking care of Hermione and they had to wait, they were able to contemplate the question.

They both knew what it looked like. Both were perfectly capable of putting two and two together and coming up with ‘Malfoy’s fucking Potter.’ What they didn’t like was that they were most probably accurate. Snape could almost hear Narcissa turning in her grave.

Snape had no problem with Draco’s sexual choices. Bisexuality had been a practice amongst Purebloods for centuries. Lucius had both male and female lovers that Snape knew of, and with Draco; the apple never fell far from the tree. What did alarm Snape was Draco’s choice of Potter as a lover. Harry Potter was wholly inappropriate and certainly never a choice Draco would have made had Lucius been around to stop it.

But Lucius wasn’t around. Lucius was a dribbling idiot in a glass box.

The wheel of Snape’s mind spun again as Potter paced close to him. Hermione. His beautiful Hermione. He was going to kill Krum.

“I can’t stand this.” Harry stopped suddenly in the centre of the room. “We’re just sitting here while that bastard is getting away.”

“He is not going to get away with this, Harry,” Minerva said patiently, “Professor Dumbledore will find him and when he does he will deal with him.”

“Deal with him how?” Harry demanded, “he’ll probably go to Azkaban for a few months and that will be it.”

“Dumbledore will ensure that the punishment fits the crime.”

“And how is he going to do that? Have Krum beaten to a pulp and shove a broom up his arse?”

“Well, obviously not,” Minerva suppressed a smile, “but that is very inventive Mr. Potter.”

“Perhaps,” said Snape silkily, turning from the window and eyeing Harry with a slightly disdainful gaze, “you should stop your pacing and turn your manifold talents to figuring out how you might possible help the Headmaster locate Krum.”

Harry turned on him, glaring hatefully at the Potions Master. “Don’t you fucking talk, you should be the one out there looking for the bastard, or don’t you care about her at all?”

“I don’t think my feelings on the matter are particularly important, Potter.”

“Oh really? Well I beg to differ, Professor, if it wasn’t for you, Hermione wouldn’t be in this mess!”

Snape’s eye’s blazed and his complexion paled a little. “I fail to see how Mr. Krum suddenly deciding that he is a psychotic madman and attacking Hermi…Miss Granger, is my fault.”

“If it wasn’t for you leading her on she wouldn’t have stayed at Hogwarts alone,” Harry replied hotly. “She would have been here and safe.”

“Perhaps,” Snape sneered, casting his glare over both boys, “given your obvious intentions for these holidays, she felt uncomfortable accompanying you.”

“Don’t you fucking try and bring this back on us!” Draco stepped forward, his face flushed as he glared at his godfather. “You could have told her you were going away, you know how she feels about you and she isn’t the kind of person to let a flight of fancy take her away. I know you encouraged her. I saw you, remember? But you didn’t tell her did you? You just left her there. You deserted her, proving once again the kind of ‘friend’ you are. You have a habit of destroying your friends don’t you Uncle Severus? Why should this time be any different?”

Harry looked from Draco to Snape and threw in his two sickles worth, “Yeah, you left her there alone with him!”

Snape paled further, a muscle worked in his cheek and Harry was certain he saw something that could be tears film over Snape’s eyes. He didn’t cry though. He opened his mouth as if to say something, some remark or an excuse, but nothing came out. His lip quivered for a fraction of a second and then his face hardened. He sailed across the room, collecting his traveling cloak, and stalked out of their sight.

Harry turned away from his retreating form, hugging himself tight and Draco bowed his head. Minerva picked herself up and ran after Snape.

“Severus!” Minerva called desperately, “Severus, wait!”

He stopped, more from the knowledge that Minerva shouldn’t be running and he didn’t want her to fall over on the marble floor. “What?” he demanded, he was in no mood to talk, he just wanted to get out of this house. He should never have come here.

“Don’t just storm off,” Minerva caught her breath, her legs felt weak under her. “They are angry and upset and looking to appropriate blame where ever they can. That’s all.”

“That’s all? Minerva, I have never heard a truer word spoke in my life. They are right, I did leave her there. I knew I should tell her I was going, but I didn’t.”

“Yes, but you didn’t think she was going to stay there for you did you?”

“What I think is patiently obvious is that I didn’t think at all.”

“This isn’t your fault Severus.”

“I don’t think Hermione is going to see it that way.”

Minerva looked around desperately. She wanted to hug him. He looked hopeless and angry. He looked frightening. “Come back into the lounge,” she said, “you should wait and make sure she is alright.”

“I am sure you are more than capable of doing that, Minerva.”

“She might want to know you are here.”

“I doubt it.” He scowled and turned away, pulling his cloak on as he did so. “I will see you in the morning, back at the Fenn.”

Minerva swallowed, “Are you going back there now.”

“Not right away,” He was staring longingly at the door.

“Then where are you going now?”

He turned back to her and smiled grimly, “to find Krum.”

~ ~ ~

“Ronald Weasley, is that a Bertie Botts Bean that you have shoved up your nose?”

Exactly how the bean had found it’s way up his left nostril, Ron could not recall, only that it had been found there. His recollections of his early childhood were sparse, he could not think back too far before everything became a blank. This one, and he was certain that it was a memory not a dream, came back now with clarity as he trudged through the frozen night to the house.

“You’re a silly git,” Charlie laughed and tilted Ron’s chin back to get a better look up his baby brother’s nose. He sat Ron up on to the low stone wall of the pig pen and knelt in the snow, trying to figure out exactly how he was supposed to get the sweet out of there.

“Don’t tell mum!” Ron had squeaked and had tried to blow the offending bean out. He only succeeded in covering his top lip in snot. Charlie shook his head in disgust and wiped Ron’s nose and lip with a handkerchief. Eventually he struck on the idea of using his wand to gently heat the bean until it became sticky and pliable, holding the handkerchief up to Ron’s nose he instructed the boy to blow. The bean came out in a bright sticky red mess.

Ron eagerly looked at the contents of the linen square, saw the red and mistook it instantly for blood and began to wail. Charlie had laughed, lifted the four year old into his arms and carried him inside to the warmth of the Christmas fire.

If only Ron had kept to the back of the battlefield that last day, as Dumbledore had told him to, if only he hadn’t gone running to the front, so stupidly eager to prove himself. If he’d stayed where he was supposed to he might have been there to protect his brother, to save him from the blond Death Eater who had swooped from the sky and taken his head clean off his shoulders.

As Ron pushed the door to the Burrow open, tears streaked down his cheeks.

It was only now, when Charlie lay in some wet patch of earth, did Ron fully appreciate what his brother had done for him. He had been Ron’s protector, the savior from the twin’s tormenting, the only one who listened to him as though he had something of value to say, the best Seeker in Gryffindor history and Ron’s personal hero. When Charlie had left the family home and went to Romania to work, Ron had been heartbroken. He had thrown a tantrum, said things he didn’t mean, he had been a child. If only he’d had a chance to tell Charlie just how important he had been, but it was too late now. He only could only add it to his ever growing list of regrets.

Charlie would have been ashamed of Ron now. Charlie would never betray his brother as Ron had.

Ron climbed the stairs, avoiding the creaks and groans of the old floor boards, and carried his burden of guilt to his bed. He had no idea why this was happening. Why Angelina had chosen him or why he was powerless to resist her. Why had he allowed her to fill his veins with some foul drug that sapped his energy and made him euphoric? His only consolation was that whatever she had pumped into him was no doubt pure and clean and not some strange and filthy concoction that Muggles came up with. He knew that it was a growing practice amongst Wizard kind to take plants traditionally used for healing and make drugs from them. It had once been considered beneath them, Purebloods considered such drugs a Muggle weakness. But since Voldemorts fall, there were few magical folk with a pure lineage left.

Ron slumped on his bed and closed his eyes. His arm ached where she had slid the needle into his vein and he didn’t want to look about the room. He knew where his eye would settle, and he just didn’t want to see the Contract yet. He opened his eyes and whispered for light.

The rose bud beside his name was small and yellow and once again tinged with brown. He looked away and felt tears sting his eyes. There was no point crying over it. If he hated it so much he should never have allowed it to happen. He angrily wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and stared at Harry and Hermione’s names. His heart skipped a beat.

Harry had a rose. Full and bursting and startlingly bright. It was perfect red, and for a moment Ron was certain he could smell the scent of a rose garden. So it was over, for Harry at least. He felt a bitterness fill his heart. Once again, Harry Potter was saved from a hideous fate. Ron wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out that Dumbledore had arranged the perfect girl to just come along and be there for Harry. Couldn’t have the hero of the Wizarding World covered in boils now could we?

He looked over Hermione’s rose buds. A couple looked as though they had died and were dripping what could have been blood. Probably because she got them with that filthy Malfoy shit. Ron had loved Hermione, once upon a time and in his own foolish way. Now she was truly rolling in the dirt with Malfoy. Ferret. Of all people. She knew full well what the Malfoy’s had done. She knew the entire clan was bitter, twisted and evil. She knew Lucius had been the Death Eater who had descended from the sky and killed Ron’s beloved brother. She knew all of those things and yet she still did this. It was like throwing Charlie’s death in his face.

Now Harry was coming to the ferret's aid as well. At first Ron had suspected the Imperius curse, but eventually dismissed it. Harry was renowned for his ability to resist them. Which meant that not only was Hermione willingly fucking around with the little shit – but Harry was willingly standing up for him!

All of which Ron saw as the ultimate act of betrayal.

He closed his eyes again and let his head fall back into the pillows. He felt sick, he felt the urge to vomit but there was nothing left in his stomach. He wondered how it was that now the war was over and his life was supposed to be wonderful, it felt so much like shit.

~ ~ ~

Snape held a small hand mirror flat on his palm and poured a thick mercury solution over its surface. He hoped that he was closer to Krum than Dumbledore was. Not that it would really matter. Snape knew he had the advantage. It was one of the reasons he had been so indispensable to the old man during the war. Snape could find people. Darkness calls to darkness and Snape was full of shadows. Still, Dumbledore had a few hours head start, and he had been there when Krum had Apparated, which meant he had a slip stream he might be able to trace.

Snape stilled his thoughts and pictured Krum clearly in his minds eye. He looked down at the mirror with its swirling solution.

“Show me,” he whispered and the mercury swirled and formed an arrow. He smiled grimly and followed it.

Krum had Apparated from Scotland, but he certainly hadn’t left the United Kingdom. Snape doubted he would return to Bulgaria unless he was forced to. Fortunately for Snape (although perhaps not for his quarry), Krum had moved directly to England; Derbyshire to be precise. The Mirror showed Snape the way, and once he was in the same county, the way became clear and easy.

The mirror led him on a twisted and bitter path, along well used Muggle roads, across vast fields and along pathways hidden to all but Wizard kind. His hair blew wild in the cold night air. His hands and cloak became tinged with white frost from the speed of the broom through the winter’s night. He flew high enough not to be seen from the ground, but low enough to know where he was going. Soon the landscape to the left and right of him became little more than a blur and he focused on the mirror to guide him towards his quarry.

After a number of hours it was close to dawn and the mercury in the mirror began to swirl again and finally it stilled. Snape set himself down in a narrow lane between two stone walls. The moon was clear and he walked quickly along the path, searching for a place that Krum would hide. Rounding a bend the path opened out into a field and a short distance away he saw a single light and could make out an isolated dwelling.

He made for the cottage, crossing a stile and dashing across the muddy field. When he was within twenty yards of the house he stopped and waited. There was no sign of movement from within or out. The cottage was small, recently white washed and with it’s thatched roof seemed in good repair. It looked peaceful and ordinary, though a thick shrubbery hid much of it from view. It was dark and silent, save for the one lit window. Snape approached the house with stealth and caution.

He didn’t bother to knock. If he had the wrong house and there were a family of unsuspecting Muggles inside, it would be a simple enough exercise to Obliviate their memories and leave. He threw the door open and stepped inside. His eyes took in everything at once. Krum was sitting at a small wooden table, most of the way through a bottle of whiskey, staring back at him in stunned surprise. His robes were filthy, as though he had fallen over in the field on his way to the cottage. Snape wondered for a split second just who owned this place. Then Krum stood shakily, holding the edge of the table for support.

For a moment, Krum seemed to relax, as though he had expected something worse than Snape to arrive. Perhaps he had expected Potter. They stared at each other, each aware for a moment of how similar they were. Krum swayed on the spot and assessed the man who had come. They were both dressed in black, black hair, black eyes. Both tall and lean, their bodies taut, their gaunt faces sneered, mirroring each other.

“So, Dumbledore couldn’t come himself” Krum slurred, “the little Mudblood slut mustn’t have been worth much to him.”

Snape’s face twisted in rage and he felt himself begin to shake.

“Come now, Professor, you are not usually so mute.” Krum grinned, attempting to be eloquent in his drunken state, “Aren’t you going to give me the benefit of your opinion; tell me where I went wrong. I can assure you, Miss Granger never hesitated in giving me her opinion, even if she did scream it into my fucking ear.”

“I didn’t think you were interested in Miss Granger’s opinion.” Snape raked his eyes disdainfully over Krum, “I thought you were far more interested in beating her to a bloody pulp.”

“Well,” Krum laughed, “I would have preferred that she spread her legs sweetly for me, but she likes it rough, and I aim to please.”

Snape’s hands balled into tight fists, his complexion changed from pale to red in a moment.

“You should have heard her,” Krum was laughing again, “she squealed like a stuck pig.”

Snape threw himself at Krum. His hands went for the Bulgarian’s throat, clutching, squeezing. Krum flailed at him, fists landing wherever he could reach. It all happened so fast that Krum could do nothing but fall back and start hitting out in defense. Whatever he had expected, it wasn’t a physical assault. Wizards didn’t work this way. Wizards used wands. But Snape wasn’t thinking like a Wizard or a Slytherin or anything of the sort. He was thinking like a man and at that moment, he just wanted to tear the bastard apart with his bare hands.

Krum’s flailing eventually broke Snape’s hold and they fell with a crash into the hearth, still scuffling, arms and legs lashing out. Snape pinned Krum down, taking great pleasure in landing three good punches into the drunken mans face, before slipping a hand into the filthy robes and snatching his wand. He pushed himself up, pointing both wands at Krum.

“What do you care?” Krum spat out a clot of blood from his mouth, “she’s just some Mudblood know it all student. You hate them. I know you do, Karkaroff told me.”

Snape pointed the wands dangerously. “Don’t you ever speak of her, don’t you say a word about her,” he cried, spittle flying from his mouth at Krum, his voice sounded suspiciously like a sob wrenched from deep in his gut.

Krum burst into laughter, “You like her? You have a thing for the virtuous Miss Granger?” He struggled to sit upright, “What makes you think she would want a greasy old fuck like you?”

Snape paled, breathing heavy. A look that was akin to grief masked his face.

Realization dawned on Krum and he laughed harder. “Oh! Oh I see. So you’ve already tasted that particular pie. You’re the bastard who stole her from me.” He smiled horribly, “I can’t say I commend her taste, but it looks like I roughed up your bit of crumpet.”

Krum’s laughing features soon twisted into agony and a sound rent the air like that of tearing fabric. A long strip of flesh and robes tore from Krum’s thigh. His eyes widened as he stared at the long red wound in disbelief.

“Abripio Vestitus.”

Krum’s robes flew from his body, leaving him in just his underwear, and another strip of flesh tore from his thigh. He screamed, desperately trying to stop the progress of the torn flesh. It did little good, the skin came away under his hand, taking traces of tendon and muscle fibers with it. He turned his face wildly to Snape, looked into Snapes eyes and suddenly understood the true meaning of darkness. Karkaroff had told him year before that the Hogwarts Potions Master had been a Death Eater and an evil one at that. He hadn’t believed it. Snape had seemed bitter and twisted to be sure, but it was obvious that he was Dumbledore’s right hand man; hardly a  Death Eater.

Now he knew it was true. Snape’s black eyes seemed like bottomless pits, reflecting nothing but Krum’s own terrified face. Snape’s mouth curled into a cruel smile. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” Snape said silkily, “but from what I hear, you like a little pain.”

Another strip of flesh tore away and Krum scrambled backwards, screaming in pain. He had to get out, get away from this place, if he didn’t, Snape would flay him alive. He clawed his way up the hearth until he was standing and began to move, crashing through the door and running blindly through the field towards the forest.

Snape turned and watched him go, his eyes shone with a  malicious joy. “Don’t run!” he called laughing, “If you run it only makes it worse!”

But still Krum ran, unaware of his direction, gasping for breath in the heavy wet air. Branches snagged his limbs, scarping across the raw flesh of his leg. He stumbled over a dead tree and crashed to the ground and Snape bore down on him, seemingly from the sky.

“Now don’t tell me you’re scared Krum.” Snape chuckled darkly, “don’t tell me you can’t fend off someone who isn’t a wandless young witch half your size?”

Krum was mute with terror, but he soon found his voice as his scream tore through the air and the skin of his right arm came away like a pale sleeve. Snape’s wand twitched and pointed at Krum’s chest, another strip of flesh removed itself. The pain was intense, the dirt and leaves from the ground, the very air that swelled around his body, played havoc on the now raw flesh and nerves.

“P-please,” Krum sobbed “please, I vill go to Azkaban, just please, stop this.”

“Azkaban?” Snape laughed with mock surprise, “I never planned for you to go to Azkaban.”

“You, you didn’t?” Krum yelped.

“Oh Gods no! I planned to kill you in the slowest and most painful way possible.” He chuckled, “and I bet you were grateful when you saw it was me standing there in that door way and not Potter.” He pointed his wand at Krum’s groin and grinned, “I don’t think you’ll be needing that.”

Krum screamed as flesh and muscle and nerves tore and detached. In horror he ventured to look at the gaping wound where his cock had been, he could see soft white orbs hanging slackly against his legs attached to what could be bloodied strings and he knew they were his balls, nude and hideous when devoid of his scrotum. Snape laughed hard and bitter. Moving the wand again, he wondered what he could remove next.

“SEVERUS!”

Snape spun on his heel and glared at Dumbledore.

“Don’t do this, Severus.”

Snape smiled sheepishly. “Give me five more minutes Albus, that’s all I ask.”

“You need to go home. Minerva is waiting for you…and Hermione needs you to be there, not in Azkaban.”

Snape shrugged unconcerned and turned back to Krum, watching him struggling and bleeding on the ground. Moving quickly Snape kicked him hard in the belly, then again in the gaping wound of Krum’s groin. Dumbledore looked away as Snape wiped some gore from the toe of his boot on Krum’s face.

“Let me take him,” Dumbledore said gently, “he will be punished.”

Snape seemed unwilling to give up his prey. Dumbledore hadn’t seen him like this for a good many years.

“He will be punished,” Dumbledore removed Krum’s wand from Snape’s hand.

“He deserves this,” Snape muttered.

“Perhaps,” Dumbledore said, “but it doesn’t make it right.”

Snape really didn’t care about right and wrong, he wanted Krum dead.

But it wouldn’t happen tonight.

Snape stepped backwards and nodded sharply at Dumbledore. The sky was turning grey, the dawn was coming. Soon it would be daylight and Minerva would be waiting for him with news. He bowed his head, picked up his broom and Apparated.

 ~ ~ ~

Early Christmas morning, Hermione blinked her eyes open, grimaced and stared up at an unfamiliar ceiling. There were no cobwebs up there, none of Lavender’s pretty ornaments, only cold speckles of gray dawn light through the trees. Her body throbbed with a dull ache, but she felt whole and rested and safe. What ever Madam Pomfrey had given her was making her feel a little high, almost euphoric and for a moment she felt a floating kind of giddiness as she realized she was in a strange bed.

Then slowly the world fell in to place around her.

She was at Malfoy Manor; she had been attacked and had come here. Harry and Draco had picked her up, there had been a House Elf, and other people had come, she was sure of it. Madam Pomfrey had been there. She drew a deep breath that made her ribs ache a little. Beneath her she could feel the softness of a mattress, over her were the weight of blankets and something else, a hand, on her stomach. She became slowly aware of deep regular breathing on either side of her and the warmth of skin. She looked at either side of her body and realized that she was lying between Harry and Draco and had just woken up in the middle of many a Hogwarts student’s ultimate fantasy.

Harry smelled like his usual self and it was his hand curled loosely on her stomach. In sleep he looked young and innocent, his messy hair a little dirty and lying dark and inky on his pillow. It was getting long now, she hadn’t really noticed it before. He was shirtless, she could see smears of blood, her blood, and a light dusting of hair across his chest. She wondered just when it was that he had gone from the boy she knew to the man lying beside her. On her other side Draco was over dressed for sleep. Pajamas, a t-shirt and a heavy dressing gown, His arms were folded defensively around him. Neither looked as though they were sleeping particularly peacefully. The room was cold and gray in the half light of morning and Harry shivered. Hermione pulled the blankets up over his shoulder.

She wondered for a moment what had actually gotten her through the night. Was it their presence beside her or a sleeping draught? What would get her through the nights to come? Would she become like so many, relying on potions and draughts to forget everything that had happened? She had thought herself fortunate to come through the war with so few emotional scars, was that to be undone now with this one violent act? Krum had tried to destroy her physically and he had failed. She was here, alive, awake and whole. But she could feel the darkness in her mind. Who was going to heal that?

She carefully climbed over Draco and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Even in the gray light she could see that this was a beautiful room. She was safe here. She would just have to keep repeating that to herself. The wooden floor was cold beneath her feet, and she stood up slowly, easing her weight off the bed, testing her own strength. Her muscles ached, but they did not cry out in pain. It was as though the pain had been dulled for her, no doubt through some concoction of the Medi-Witch. She padded across the room to the window and looked out over the countryside to take in just where she was.

There was something that looked like an orange grove down below the terraced garden. Beyond that, in the dawn light, rising from the mist of a small valley she could see a house. It was a strange combination between afairytale house and a miniature castle. All turrets and towers on a tiny frame. It was obviously a Wizard’s house; it looked far to enchanted to have been built by a Muggle. She wondered if it was part of the estate, a strange Malfoy idea of a retreat. She splayed her hand on the glass and pressed her forehead to the cool glass.

She heard movement in the bed and turned. Draco was awake and sitting up. He had pulled the covers back from Harry and was lightly tracing the curve of Harry’s body with his fingertips. He then turned his head and saw her watching him, and smiled. Gently he drew the blankets back over Harry’s form and climbed from the bed, coming to the window and wrapping his arms around her from behind. He dug his sharp chin into her shoulder and drew her into his warmth.

“Hi,” she whispered quietly.

“How do you feel?” he asked, turning his head a little and pressing a kiss to the side of her throat.

“I’m alright,” she said, she sounded weary, “alive.” She shivered, and he held her closer. Outside, the sun had finally broken the horizon and the light outside was changing, becoming brighter, illuminating the snow covered country side and making it beautiful. A thin stream of smoke began to unfurl from one of the chimneys of the house in the little valley. “Does someone live there?” she asked Draco who looked in the direction of the house and smiled.

“Yes, that’s the Fenn. It’s the Snape family home.”

“Professor Snape?”

“Yeah. It’s been in his family for a long time.”

“So that’s where he lives then.” She said it more to herself than Draco.

“Not always. He’s there at the moment, but he never really went there when I was growing up. My Dad said once that Snape hated the place. I don’t know why, I used to sneak down there sometimes, and it is really very nice…”

“He’s there at the moment?’ She frowned, so she should have come with Harry and Draco all along.

“Yes,” Draco stoked her arms, “he came here last night with Pomfrey and McGonagall. Don’t you remember?”

“No,” she shook her head sadly, “I only remember Madam Pomfrey.”

Had she come with Harry and Draco she would have been close to him and she would have been safe. None of the horror of the previous night would have happened at all. But she hadn’t known he would be there. He hadn’t given her that choice. “He didn’t tell me he wouldn’t be at Hogwarts,” she said bitterly, “he didn’t tell me he was going away.”

“I know.” Draco kissed her throat again, “we already had words with him about that.”

“You fought?” She tensed and Draco soothed her gently.

“Not exactly a fight. We just told him what a prick he was, and he left.”

“Was he upset?” Oh Gods, please let him be upset.

Draco closed his eyes. “You know Snape, he’s pretty hard to read.” He paused. “But yeah, he was upset.”

Harry moved in the bed and they both turned. He had rolled onto his back and was still sound asleep under the velvet covers.

“I should wake him up,” Draco said. Hermione could hear the affection in his voice, he sounded almost entranced. She remembered the way he had traced Harry’s body with his finger tips, the look on his face had been that of wonder. “Once he falls asleep he’s almost impossible to wake up.”

Hermione laughed in spite of herself. “That’s because he spent so many years being too afraid to sleep that he is making up for it now.”

Draco dropped his arms from around her and moved towards the bed. For a moment Hermione was certain that he was going to climb into the bed and devour Harry whole. He stopped however, and turned back to Hermione. He smiled helplessly. “I…” he looked back to Harry. The covers had slipped down again, and in the brightening room Draco could see a small pink nipple waiting to be licked. He turned back to Hermione who was staring at him with a small amused smile on her face.

“Perhaps,” Hermione said, “I should take a bath. If you could show me where the bathroom is.”

“Um, sure. I’ll wake Harry up while you’re in the bath. It’s Christmas after all, we should be opening presents.”

Hermione was fairly certain that Draco would be enjoying some kind of Christmas cheer, just as soon as she was out of the room. He wrapped an arm around her waist and led her to the bathroom.

~ ~ ~

“Hey, come on Potter, wake up!”

Harry stirred under the hands shaking him awake. Trying to open his eyes desperately. “Wha..?”

Draco kissed him, smothering his mouth, licking at his lips. Harry moaned low into Draco’s throat and his hands automatically came up to caress Draco’s body, disappointed to find him still fully clothed. He slid his hands under Draco’s T-shirt and slid them up the Draco’s hot flesh. He could get used to being woken up this way. He could get used to having this body on top of him, urgently seeking access.

“Where..?” Harry’s brain clicked in to place, the events of the previous night came flooding back to him. He pushed Draco’s mouth aside for a moment. “Where’s Hermione?”

Draco struggled with the draw string on Harry’s pants, mumbling, “In the bath,” as he did so.

Harry struggled out from under Draco and sat up. Draco looked flushed and a little frustrated at being thrown off. “Is she ok?”

Draco sat up, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “She seems alright. A little quiet, but she’s ok.” He grinned and moved across the bed to Harry. “But she’s having a bath right now, which means we have plenty of time for some fun.” He covered Harry’s mouth again and sucked Harry’s tongue deep into his throat. Harry whimpered, relishing the taste and his hand came up to cup Draco’s head. Then he thought, they shouldn’t leave Hermione alone yet. He couldn’t help but remember Draco’s story of Pansy Parkinson. He pushed Draco back again.

“Maybe I should go and check on her.”

“She’s fine!” Draco said, exasperated, “she just wanted to have a bath.” He reached forward and caressed Harry’s hard cock. “Feels like you want some attention.”

Harry scuttled off the bed, away from Draco’s wandering fingers. “Don’t you think of anything other than sex? I want to make sure Hermione is alright.”

Draco’s eyes blazed, “Well I don’t think she is going to be too happy with you if you burst in on her in the bath.”

Harry glared at him and stormed out of the room.

Draco crossed his legs and let his head drop into his hands. He absently massaged his temples. It would have been prudent perhaps to have come home for Christmas alone. He looked about the room which was beginning to lighten rapidly. His room. His childhood room.

Silently he climbed from the bed and padded across the floor to a door that Harry had mistakenly believed to be a closet. It wasn’t. It was the door that led to his parent’s room. Or more accurately, his father's room, although his mother slept there more often than not. Every year, he would go in there on Christmas morning and force them to get up, demanding presents, activity, attention. Even when he was too old to do so, he still went. The Christmas morning visit was about forcing them out of bed to stumble sleepily to the lounge whilst their excited son ran circles around them. Then last year he had sat cross legged on the end of the bed while Non brought them all coffee and pastries, and they had talked for hours. Perhaps they had known it would be the last Christmas. He hadn’t realized. If he had he would have memorized the conversation. It was lost now. As lost as his childhood.

He turned the door knob and pushed the door open. The room was dark and cold. There had been no fire in this room for a long time. The air smelled stale. He wondered why he was doing this. Perhaps he was torturing himself with the restless ghosts of the house.

He quickly went to the windows and drew open the curtains, allowing light to flood the chamber and turned to the bed.

The room was silent and still, the bed empty. Everything was as it had been on the last day that Lucius Malfoy had left the house. There was no dust, everything was clean and tidy, awaiting the Masters return. Draco climbed over the bed, pulling the dove gray satin bed cover down and hoping against hope that the Elves hadn’t changed the sheets. He lay down, head on his Fathers pillow and inhaled. It was there, the scent of his Father’s hair, the shampoo he used, the soap, sleep and skin. His Fathers scent, as unique as a fingerprint, faint but still there. He inhaled deeply, hugging the pillow to him, and dissolved into silent aching tears.

~ ~ ~

Minerva awoke with darkness still swirling around her. It was early, and considering that she had only climbed into bed two hours before, she had reasonably expected to still be asleep. There was a sound in the hall, too heavy to be one of the House Elves. She wrapped a heavy tartan dressing gown around herself and stepped into the hallway to investigate.

Snape walked down the hall, silhouetted against the window.

“Severus?” She hesitated, his face was shadowed and he stopped, stood silent in the early morning light.

Hearing the fear in her voice he answered her, “It’s alright Minerva, I didn’t kill him.”

Minerva breathed with relief. “Oh thank the Gods.”

“Thank the Gods?” He sneered. “The world would be a better place without the likes of Viktor Krum. I should have just killed him.”

“If it is any consolation, I’m glad you didn’t.” She smiled, tried to play with him, “I don’t think my party would have been much of a hit with you locked in Azkaban.”

He smiled miserably, “Don’t fret Minerva, I would have let you have it here regardless.”

She rushed down the hall to him, “It wouldn’t have been the same without you.”

He stared at her in the half light. Dumbledore’s mistress. He had no idea why she liked him. He was a miserable old sod and she was like sunlight in his world. Forcing him to laugh when he really wanted to enjoy his misery. He smiled, realizing for the first time that he actually had a best friend.

Dumbledore really should marry her.

“Is Hermione alright?” he asked. It was the first time he had called her by her first name in front of anyone.

“She’s fine. The boys are staying with her tonight and Poppy has given her a relaxant to help dull everything. Krum didn’t rape her, it seems he ejaculated before he could manage it.”

Relief rushed through him as warm and liquid as mulled wine. At least the bastard hadn’t violated her totally, at least she had been able to save something for her own. Snape wanted desperately to go to her, to hold her tight in his arms, to try and soothe her. He was probably the last person she wanted to see. He felt a sob rise in his throat and was unable to stop it coming out.

Minerva quickly, carefully caressed his cheek. Calming him down. “Shhh,” she whispered, “It’s over, she is safe now.” His face was cold and she wondered how far he had traveled that night. “You’re cold,” she said in a motherly fashion.

“I’m always cold.”

“You should go and have a hot bath and get some sleep.”

He smiled in spite of himself. She caressed his cheek again and absently he kissed her palm.

“Have you anything to help you sleep? I have some Dreamless Sleep potion in my room.” She smiled, wanting to hug him. He seemed so dejected.

“I’m a Potions Master Minerva, I have any number of things to help me sleep.”

“Then perhaps you should take something, sleep the day away.”

“What about you?”

She smiled mischievously, “Albus is coming to spend Christmas with me, it seems he misjudged his ability to live without me. I think you should get some sleep, and then this evening you should go to the Manor and see Hermione”

He tensed, scowled, “I don’t think she’d want to see me.”

“Nonsense, Poppy asked me why she kept saying your name over and over again last night. I made up some ridiculous excuse, but Poppy’s no fool. I think you will find Hermione wants to see you very much.”

“Do you think I am being an old fool?” he asked suddenly, “she is so young and I’m…” he sighed, “I’m not exactly the nicest person in the world.” He smiled at his tact towards his own self.

“I think love can blossom when you least expect it; look at the two boys at the Manor.”

Snape rolled his eyes, “I would rather not think about that little catastrophe waiting to happen.”

“Well, you have to admit, it is unexpected.” Minerva grinned, “I wonder which one is the pitcher and which one is the catcher.”

“That does it, I’m going to bed.” He fumbled with the door knob and tried to walk through before it was opened, slamming himself bodily into it. Minerva yelped.

They stared at each other and suddenly both burst into laughter.

“OK,” Snape grinned, “you never tell anyone about that.”

”Deal.”

He opened the door, “Merry Christmas Minerva.”

“Merry Christmas Severus.”

~ ~ ~

“Draco? Hermione is alright.” Harry stopped, the room was empty, “Draco?”

Cold air was rushing into the room from the closet door that was wide open and Harry went to close it, only to discover that it was the doorway to another room entirely. “Draco?”  He ventured into the other room. A bedroom. As large and as beautiful as Draco’s room was. The furniture in this room was older and heavier. Dark wood side boards and chairs, a huge dark bed.

Draco was asleep in the bed.

Harry looked around the room. A large portrait of Narcissa Malfoy hung on one wall, another of Draco and Lucius hung opposite. The side board groaned under the weight of hundreds of photographs, all framed and cluttered on every available surface. Up the side of the door frame Harry noticed a growthchart, each point clearly etched with a name, a date and an age. Draco at 1 year, 2 years and so on up until he was 17 and taller than Harry was now.

It had to be Lucius Malfoy’s bedroom. Harry shuddered. Carefully, as though expecting Lucius to appear at any moment, Harry crossed the room to the bed and sat on the edge of it, staring down at Draco. He felt a surge of guilt. He had asked nastily if Draco thought of anything other than sex, and of course he did. He thought about the same things Harry thought about. Harry had never known his family and longed for one. Draco, whose family had been torn from him, missed them desperately.

He stroked Draco’s cheek, pushed silky strands of hair back and tucked them behind Draco’s ear. Draco’s eyes flickered and opened with heavy lids. He rolled onto his back, startled and stared up at Harry, uncomprehending for a moment and then relaxing.

“How’s Hermione?” he asked quietly.

“She’s fine,” Harry smiled. “How are you?”

“Ok, fine.” He forced a smile in return, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“No reason.” Harry drew him up to him, “Do you want to go back to our room?”

Draco hugged him tightly. He didn’t want to leave this place, but he didn’t want to be alone and making love to Harry in this bed would be just plain wrong. He climbed from the bed and, taking Harry’s hand, they left, closing the door behind them.

In one smooth movement Harry grabbed Draco and pinned him against the closed door. His bare chest pressed against the Draco’s, the soft fabric of Draco’s t-shirt infuriating him. He slid his hands under the shirt, up over Draco’s rib cage and his thumbs grazed Draco’s bare nipples. He pushed the shirt up over Draco’s chest and gently bit one tiny pink bud.

This was good. Harry was never aggressive, this was great! Draco found himself instantly aroused.

Harry’s lips brushed Draco’s, “Do you want me?”

“Yes.” 

Harry’s mouth closed over Draco’s, hot and lush, and Harry tasted like spit and toothpaste. He’d brushed his teeth. Draco could only wonder what his own mouth tasted like. Morning breath, but Harry didn’t seem to care less. His tongue licked and searched until it found Draco’s tongue and teased Draco’s mouth. They kissed with sloppy abandon, their mouths wet with saliva which coated their chins, their hands plunged into each other’s hair. Neither had shaved and the stubble scoured each other’s faces, leaving scratches. It didn’t matter, nothing mattered.

Draco felt Harry’s hips gyrating against his thigh and Harry’s hard cock pressing into the muscle there. He moved his legs, bent his knees just a little so that Harry could stand between them and their hips were on the same level. Their cocks were pressed hard against each other, separated by only the thin silk pajamas they both wore.

Not breaking the kiss Harry irritably fumbled and tore at the pants, pushing them both down so that they could feel the heat of each other’s bare flesh. Draco moaned and wondered if it was possible for Harry to fuck him while they stood here, or if they would have to negotiate a path back to the bed.

“Oh shit, sorry!”

Harry jerked his head around and Draco looked past him. Hermione stood in the door way, wrapped in a long scarlet robe that Draco had left in the bathroom for her. Draco had half a mind to ask if she wanted to join them, but thought better of it, the girl had been traumatized after all and Harry would probably deposit a well placed knee to his groin if he did so. But with Hermione came the cold realization that this was about to stop – and Draco really didn’t want to stop.

Hermione could have kicked herself a dozen times over. Why had she squeaked out anything so stupid? Why had she not been able to remain silent and enjoy the show? It was possibly the hottest thing she had ever seen and she had the guilty pleasure of feeling her clitoris engorge with blood. She felt a smile cross her face.

“Um, sorry. I…” She blushed. They were staring at her and she allowed her gaze to rest on Harry’s pale bottom, “you carry on, I’ll…I’ll go and um…” well, what was she going to do? She had no idea about the layout of the house and while she would have loved to explore it, she doubted she should do so alone, who knew what kinds of traps were set for the unsuspecting. She giggled suddenly, uncontrollably. They were both frozen, staring at her as though she had caught them in the middle of some terrible act. “Nice bum Harry.”

Harry flushed bright red and pulled his pants up, gently drawing Draco’s up while he was at it. Draco’s face split into a wide grin, and he began to laugh. “Well it’s true,” he chuckled, “you do have a nice bum.”

~ ~ ~

Sitting beside the window in the small lounge room, Ron thought the constant ticking of the clock on the mantel would drive him mad. He was at a loss as to why they all had to get up so damn early anyway. Through the open archway he had a clear view of the stairs and he had spent the last hour expecting George and Angelina to come down. They all were. The house had rocked from day break with the sounds of George and Angelina fighting. Even the family ghoul had retreated to the attic to get out of the way.

Ron’s gaze jumped from the open doorway to the gift in his lap, then from the gift to the doorway again, and then back to the gift. The small tag on the gift had his name on it, it was from Harry. His guilt was multiplying, as he hadn’t purchased anything for Harry or Hermione, yet they had both sent him something. To make matters worse, the rest of his family was all there in the lounge room, unwrapping gifts and pretending all was well. Ginny and Fred were discussing George and Angelina indiscreetly, despite their mother shushing them and fussing over the handing out of presents. Ron felt a bead of sweat run down his back and he silently prayed to all of his personal Gods for the argument not to be about him. He could only hope that Angelina wouldn’t choose Christmas for the shit to hit the fan.

“What time is lunch going to be?” Bill asked, more out of the need to say something to divert from the yelling from upstairs.

“Maybe a little later than usual,” Molly cast a furtive glance to the ceiling, “some time after one.”

Everyone could almost hear Fleur’s pregnant belly growl.

The creak on the stair alerted everyone to George and Angelina coming down. Ginny and Fred shut up and everyone plastered a smile on their faces. The knot in Ron’s stomach tightened. His brother and sister-in-law appeared, holding hands and smiling as though nothing had happened. Ron felt his stomach uncoil a little. George didn’t rush at him, or threaten to beat him to a bloody pulp.

Relief rushed though him and his fingers found the ribbon of Harry’s present.

“Ron?”

He jerked his face up to Angelina. “Yes?” his voice came out hoarse and she held out a gift to him.

“From George and I,” she laughed merrily and bet over to kiss his cheek. “Merry Christmas.” She placed a kiss on his cheek, parting her lips and allowing the tip of her tongue to caress the smooth skin. She gently squeezed his thigh as she pushed away from him, her finger tips brushed his balls as she turned away to find Fred’s gift.

Ron’s cock hardened a little, and he looked away, out of the window and to the small garden shed. It was going to be a long day. 

~ ~ ~

The lounge room of Malfoy Manor had been decorated some time during the early hours of the morning by the small team of House Elves that cared for the house. They had spent the past seven months in relative bliss. Without a Malfoy in the house, they were essentially free and yet enjoyed the comfort that came with belonging to the house they were born to. The members of the Ministry who had been stationed at the Manor until recently, had been no bother. The Elves did as they were instructed to do. They kept secret the things that the Master did not want to be seen, going so far as to sacrifice things of value in order to save those of more importance from prying eyes. All, save Non, had hoped to never see the return of the Malfoy’s again. When Master Draco had arrived they were sure that the terror in which they had spent most of their lives, had returned.

Master Draco was different. On this visit at least he was not the bullying, nasty and selfish boy they remembered. He also brought with him Harry Potter. And they all knew who Harry Potter was. Some looked on him with fear and trepidation. Had he not set Dobby free? What if he was to do the same to them? What would become of them? Others saw this new friend as a sign that perhaps times were changing. To be sure Master Draco was still abrupt, irritable and demanding of them, but he hadn’t yelled yet. He hadn’t kicked one of them down the stairs; he hadn’t demanded a punishment, not even when Posie had spilled wine all over the Master’s shirt at last night’s dinner. He had simply ground his teeth and bore it admirably. Something his father would never have done.

When Non announced that the house would be decorated for Christmas, they had almost baulked at the idea. It was not an official request, indeed no request at all had come down regarding Christmas. A veritable sea of gifts had arrived and they were all taken to the lounge room, and the decorating had developed from there. It seemed a terrible shame to have all of those gifts with no festive atmosphere. And so it was done. By the time the Master and his two friends (one a Mudblood they had heard) actually came down stairs, the room was warm and glowing with red and gold and green, a huge Christmas tree fully decorated with glowing baubles and the ocean of brightly wrapped presents beneath.

Harry’s mouth fell open, one look at his companions proved that they were equally as surprised. It really was incredible. Dumbledore had sent Hermione’s gifts from Hogwarts during the night and the five packages were placed carefully in a small pocket of space beneath the tree. Draco had estimated that he would get three gifts, one from Harry, one from Snape and possibly one from Hermione. Which meant that the rest were Harry’s.

And there were a lot of them. Draco knew he had gone overboard, but not that overboard. So who had sent Harry all these presents? Admirers? Well wishers? Draco felt a tug of jealousy in his belly.

“Wow,” Harry was saying. He had never seen so many gifts all in one place. “Who are they all for?”

Draco shrugged, “I guess we should just look at the tags.”

Hermione located her packages quickly. A silver bracelet from Lavender, a book on the Origins of the Alchemist from Harry, a hand embroidered shawl from Draco and an assortment of books and clothes from her parents. She found her hands shook as she picked up the last package. A small gold box with a blue ribbon tied around it. The card had her name carefully scripted across in Snape’s thin and slightly cramped hand writing. She stared at the box for a long time before Draco urged her to open it. She looked up to find Harry and Draco watching her eagerly, both having recognized the hand writing and wanting to see what the vile Potions Master considered an appropriate Christmas gift.

She untied the ribbon and slowly removed the lid from the box. She pulled out the tissue paper stuffed in the top of it and reached inside. A round potion bottle with a glass stopper sat in her hand. Around the bottle her name was engraved in the glass and wrapped around the bottle’s neck was a chain with a pendant dangling from it. She unwound the chain and held the pendant up. It was hidden behind a small card. She opened it and read quickly. “The green fairy wants your soul – but you are safe with me.” She removed the card carefully so that she could keep it, and held the pendant up to the fire light. It was a fairy in flight, made of delicate white gold with dazzling emeralds for wings.

You are safe with me.

Hermione burst into tears.

Which of course brought both boys running with comforting hugs and kisses.

“Are you alright?”

Hermione sniffled and nodded and tried to smile at Harry. She held the pendant close to her heart.

“Well, he has better taste than I thought he would,” said Draco, looking at the pendant and then to the potion bottle. “The fairy is beautiful, but I think you’ll find the real prize is the perfume.”

Perfume? She looked at the Potion bottle.

“If he’s made perfume for you, he really likes you. It’s a dead give away with Snape. He only makes perfume for people he really loves.”

Harry snorted derisively.

“What?” Draco demanded irritably, “He is capable of loving people you know, he’s not a monster.”

Harry didn’t look convinced. Snape had spent years convincing Harry that he was little more than that. Hermione removed the stopper from the bottle and the scent of freshly cut roses and iris filled the room. It was as though they had just walked into a particularly fragrant garden on a summer’s day. The air smelled of grasses and something else, something creamy that she realized with delight was vanilla. Beneath it was something deeper and earthy, woods and spices and the clean smell of Hermione’s own skin. She understood suddenly what Lavender meant when she said that he was wasted as a Potions Master. At the time she had scoffed at the suggestion, but if he made scents he would make his fortune.

She felt tears well in her eyes again and she forced them back. “Would someone else open a gift please, I feel like I’m on display.”

Draco did not need to be told twice. He began to wade through the gifts in search of his own and discovered with some amazement that a large quantity of the haul was his. Hermione gave him a book on Modern Gematrian Thought, Snape a book of Alchemical Mythology and a bottle of scent (thus helping Harry to understand why Draco always smelled so incredibly good) and he was thrilled to find Harry had given him a pendant of a Dragon wrapped around a long shard of quartz crystal. All of this was well and good and wonderful, but who were the rest from? He frowned.

“What’s up?” Harry asked, he was feeling great, he’d just had Draco’s tongue down his throat for the brilliance of his gift and he had just unwrapped a Weasley jumper, which meant Molly perhaps did not hate him as much as he’d feared.

“Well,” Draco ran his fingers over a box wrapped in silver, “I don’t know who sent me the rest of these presents.”

“Why don’t you read the card,” Hermione suggested logically, she was fiddling with the clasp to her necklace, trying to get it around her throat and eventually Harry wised up and helped her.

Draco shrugged and picked up the large card tied to the biggest box. He turned it over in his hand, looking at his name written clearly on the front of it. He knew the handwriting so well that he couldn’t quite believe it.

“Besides,” Harry continued, “a heap of these are for me and I have no idea who’d be buying me presents.”

Draco looked at him, distracted. “I did you twit,” he muttered.

“You did?” Harry’s mouth fell open, “you couldn’t have brought all of these.”

“Well, not all of them. Just most of them.”

Harry quickly went through and found packages from Hermione, Dumbledore, Tonks and Lupin. “How – how many did you give me?”

Draco shrugged, still turning card over in his fingers. “I dunno, sixty-seven I think.”

“SIXTY-SEVEN?!” Harry suddenly felt like his cousin Dudley, only he’d just scored more gifts than Dudley could ever receive in one sitting. He felt giddy, like he couldn’t sit still. Sixty-seven gifts! Sixty-seven gifts from Draco! The world started to spin, he felt faint.

“If you don’t like anything you can exchange it.” Draco finally opened the envelope and pulled out the card. Then didn’t open it.

Harry’s eyes were shining brightly, like a small child having a pleasure overload.

“Are you ok Draco?” Hermione asked concerned. Draco had paled a little; he held the card in his hands but didn’t move to open it at all.

“Yeah, I’m fine, it’s nothing.”

Harry snapped out of his Christmas rush and eyed the card suspiciously. “Who is it from? Is it someone playing a joke?” An awful thought hit him, “Is it Ron being a prick?”

Draco laughed bitterly. “No, I don’t think Weasel would be that clever actually. It’s nothing, just a bit of a shock, that’s all.”

Harry frowned, “who sent the presents?”

Draco handed the card to Harry who opened it and scanned his eyes across what was written inside. “Oh,” he said quietly, crisply, not sure what he thought of it.

“What does it say?” Draco asked, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“I think you should read it yourself.”

“No, if someone doesn’t read it to me I won’t read it at all.”

Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably and gave his sixty-seven presents a longing glance. He sighed and looked at the card.

“’Dear Draco, If you are reading this then I am either dead or rotting in Azkaban or something worse than that, which I really do not want to contemplate at the moment. I knew that you would hate to miss Christmas. I think it was always your favorite time of year and it saddens me to think I am missing it and missing you. I have instructed Non to keep everything safe for you and to ensure you receive everything on Christmas morning. I hope you are with people who love you. If you are alone take comfort in the fact that you are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars and you have a right to be here. Keep peace with your soul, be cheerful and strive to be happy.  Do not follow others blindly. I have committed many sins in my life, but I would say that the greatest of them would be having lost myself to another’s will. You are a better person than that; you are stronger and finer.

Remember your family, remember your name and do not be ashamed of it. I love you as I have always loved you. That will always remain, beyond this life, beyond any separation, that will remain.

Merry Christmas

Dad.’”

Draco exhaled and smiled sadly. Harry and Hermione were staring at him and he felt his eyes start to water. Great, he was going to cry, some fucking Christmas this was turning out to be. He reached across, refusing to blink lest his eyes spill over, and picked up a long heavy box. Pulling the lid from it he pulled out a Montrose Magpies Signature Series Firebolt and received the appropriate gasps from his onlookers.

“You are so fucking spoilt,” Harry said in awe and Draco sort of laughed and cried at the same time. Harry looked from Draco to Hermione and shrugged. There wasn’t a lot he could do about this. His eyes returned to his large pile of gifts and they began to shine with joy and enthusiasm. If Draco and Hermione were going to partake in tear-fest ’98, he would be there as the convenient shoulder – after he’d opened his sixty-seven presents.

~ ~ ~

The day progressed slowly and Hermione grew tired early. When she thought hard on it she realized that she had spent her Christmas in a strangely contented state, which vexed her considering the events of the previous night. She kept expecting to suddenly feel violated or distraught and when this didn’t happen she began to doubt her own sanity. She should feel terrible, she should feel the need for wrath, she should feel anything other than this contented state. But contented she felt.

The day had been quiet. She had expected that perhaps Severus might come, but the Manor remained obstinately visitor free. So in lieu of a visitor for herself, she had watched Harry and Draco. She realized for the first time that she had never seen Harry truly happy. That was until now. Oh she had seen him laugh; she had even seen him look joyful. The day when he left the Dursley’s for good, watching the Quidditch World Cup, times like that. But she had never seen him simply happy, with no real cause other than a light which had come on inside of him. He was happy now. He had made his way through his sea of gifts, opening each one with the enthusiasm of a small child and exclaiming with continued amazement. When the gifts were opened, played with and admired, he had settled in to petting Draco, touching him lightly at every given opportunity, as though fearful he would fly away. They kissed a lot. They never seemed to tire of it and Hermione began to feel flush with the energy they both seemed to exude for each other. She was certain that if she had not been there, they would no doubt be rolling around on the floor with complete abandon. She wished that someone would feel that way about her.

Dinner had been jovial, with the House Elves producing a veritable feast for the three of them and by the time the meal was through, Draco was well on his way to a sensational and jovial drunk and Harry was only about two steps behind him. Hermione couldn’t drink; her stomach turned at the thought of alcohol and she correctly guessed that the cause was the potion Madam Pomfrey had given her to help ease the pain in her body.

By the end of the meal she had started to ache and her contented state began to ease. So it had all been a potion. Her smile became forced and eventually a grimace.

“Are you ok?” Harry asked concerned when she suddenly felt vague and rubbed her forehead.

“I’m fine,” she grimaced slightly, “I think I’m just tired.”

“Do you want to stay with us tonight?”

She looked between them. She couldn’t sleep with them tonight; she could see by the way their bodies seemed to lean towards one and other that they were desperate to enjoy each other. She felt a fear of being alone, but she rationally told herself that she was safe here.

Then again, she had thought herself safe at Hogwarts. She wondered if she would ever feel safe again.

“No, I’ll stay in the guest room,” she smiled, forcing it to her lips and forcing it to look genuine. It didn’t convince either of them, but in truth they were desperate to be alone and for a moment they allowed their desire to override their compassion. Draco helped Hermione to her feet and showed her to a guest room. It was close to his own room and thus near to Harry and safety. If she needed anything she could come and get them, or even call out. They would leave the door open, just in case,and Draco had cast an amplification charm on the corridor so that if she called they would hear her – and they would come running.

Hermione kissed them both good night and under their watchful eyes, took a draught of Madam Pomfrey’s muscle relaxing brew and lay back in the satin pillows of the guest bed.

It worked fast, and she soon began to drift.

Her lungs felt heavy and weighted down and her throat felt thick and sore. The relaxant made her too tired to open her eyes; her eyelids felt as though they were weighted with sand. She let herself slip in and out of sleep, drifting along. The backs of her knees and the back of her neck soon warmed and she felt as though her muscles were melting from her bones, she felt herself sinking into the very fibers of the mattress.

The dreams came soon after.

At first she was certain that they were too vivid to be dreams. Her dreams were always disjointed and confused, but the images here were clear, alive and virulent and she knew somehow that they were memories, not some product of her imagination. For a time she struggled with the thoughts, willing herself to wake and fighting hard against the tide of images that washed through her tormented brain. She gave in when she realized that it only hurt her head more to struggle, and the memories wanted to be explored, who was she to stop them?

Krum was yelling at her, and she saw the pale flash of knuckles as his fist slammed into her face. He was screaming at her, calling her names, telling her he loved her, telling her she had forced him to do this. Then the scene melted away and she was standing on the Quidditch pitch and 1000 Death Eaters descended from the sky on black winged horses and she was running and screaming at Harry to run. But he didn’t runand he didn’t move, he just watched the sky (why wouldn’t he run?). Charlie was yelling at him, trying to make Harry budge, working until the last moment when the blond haired man came from the sky and blew Charlie apart. (It was Lucius, Ron was sure, it had to be, who else looked like that?) Harry had watched it happen like a man in a trance, waiting for death to come and claim him on black wings. The dream shifted shape again and she could see her parents disapproving faces, begging her to come home, to live a normal life. She tried to speak to them but they could not hear her.

She was at Hogwarts, in a store cupboard full of fairies and she was kissing her Potions Master, and he tasted like aniseed.

She smiled in her sleep and stirred. Her heavy eyes opened and closed and she clung to the dream a moment longer.

She saw Snape’s face. Pale and gaunt with dark eyes half hidden by curtains of black hair. He was sitting on the side of the bed, looking down on her and he stroked her cheek gently. The touch was so real, and she held his gaze for a long time, not wanting to let him slip away from her again.

He leaned down and kissed her gently, sucking on her bottom lip. It felt so real. To her dismay he stood and turned to go. She cried out softly and he stopped. “Stay with me,” she mumbled, her mouth felt stuffed with cotton.

He came back to her and sat back on the edge of the bed. She watched him remove his travel cloak and his coat, she watched as he untied his boot laces and pulled his boots off and his socks. Then he climbed into the bed and pulled her to him. She tried to make her imagination work. In her dream world, he could at least have removed all his clothes.

It didn’t matter, she snuggled into the warmth of his body and inhaled his scent. His body was so warm, his body smelled so right. She blinked and blinked again.

This was no dream, he was really there.

“Severus?”

“Mmm?”

“Am I asleep?”

“I don’t know, are you?”

She sat up in the bed and looked down at him, eyes wide. She was most definitely awake! “I thought I dreamed you.”

He pushed himself up on his elbows. “That’s a pity, you looked like you were having nightmares.”

She drew breath and curled her hand around a fist full of his shirt. He was here, he was really here. “I…” she felt her breath catch. She didn’t want to cry, not now. She didn’t want everything to come down on her now, not when he had finally come to her. “I did have a nightmare, but you weren’t there then.”

Snape pulled her down to him and she nestled into the curve of his body, pressing her cheek hard into his chest, fighting back the tide of tears.

His sensitive hand smoothed over her hair and gently stroked further down her back, rubbing gently up and down her spine, soothing her. There was nothing sexual in the touch, only a desire to bring comfort. She felt secure and warm and cozy and she felt the tears come, running from her eyes and soaking hot into the cotton of his shirt. He tucked her head under his chin and wrapped his arms around her. Her feet lightly touched his legs and she felt bathed in his warmth. He seemed like furnace, his body heat filling her. She opened her hand against his chest and tried to gauge the hardness of the flesh beneath the shirt.

Her fear had been that she would not be able to do this. That she would not be able to touch him, or have him touch her. She was not a stupid person, if she saw Krum when she closed her eyes, there was no guarantee she wouldn’t continue to see him. That moment when his fist connected with her face and knocked her senseless. She shuddered and felt Snape’s hold tighten. She wondered if he knew everything. Would he find her disgusting when he learned just how intimately Krum had touched her? When he found out that Krum’s seed had been spilled on her body? Did she really want to inflict this on him?

She started to pull away, feeling suddenly filthy, as though Krum’s hands were still on her, staining her somehow. Snape gently tightened his hold and she realized that he was not going to let her go, he planned to keep her close to him. She felt the tears come again and she began to sob, her small chest heaving against him.

Snape pressed a kiss to the top of her head and stroked the hair from her face. “Do you want to tell me about the dream?” he asked quietly.

“No,” she sobbed.

She felt him sigh, a sound and movement deep in his chest. He stroked her hair again, relaxing her a little.

“Do you want to tell me what happened with Krum?”

She stopped breathing for a moment, holding her breath in, afraid to speak. Finally she had to say something and she gnawed at her lip frantically. “No,” she said, afraid of her own voice, “but…but I will, if you’re sure you want to hear it.”

“I do,” he replied, but she could hear in his voice a fear similar to her own.

She felt herself trembling as she wondered exactly where she should start and deciding that the beginning was probably the best place – with realizing that he had gone away and that she was alone. She told him everything she could remember. She spared him no detail. She spared him no pain. When she finished it felt as though the world had stopped turning on its axis. Snape didn’t breath, didn’t move. Even his heartbeat seemed to pause.

A lump formed in her throat and she started to shake. Did he think it her fault? Would he blame her? “I..” she couldn’t speak, the lump in her throat made it hard to speak or breath. He must think her disgusting.

Suddenly his hand was buried in her hair and his cheek was pressed into the top of her head. His hold on her was so tight it was almost suffocating and yet she would not have him release her. He was surrounding her, giving the protection he wished he had been able to give her, trying to give her what strength he had.

Hermione drew a long shuddered breath, “I’m sorry,” she sobbed it into his chest, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have told you. You probably didn’t want to hear that.”

“Yes I did,” he said quickly. His voice was hoarse and when she moved her face to look at him, his expression was stark and stricken. His eyes were glazed and it took a moment for her to realize that they were full of tears. He was crying for her. Crying with pity. His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb smoothing over her cheek bone. He drew breath and it caught. His dark lashes swept down to hide his eyes and a tear escaped and rolled silently down his cheek. He pulled her back down, returned his cheek to the top of her head and in a raw whisper he rasped, “I should have been there. I should never have left you.”

“You…you weren’t to know, you couldn’t have known.”

“Oh Gods,” his entire body trembled and tightened around her, “it doesn’t matter. I should never have left you there. We have come far enough for you to deserve better from me.”

“I was so angry,” She was saying, not knowing why she was speaking, “I was so mad when I realized you had gone. Then when Krum was hurting me I realized that I was so stupid. All those letters. It’s no wonder you left. I was acting like such a stupid little school girl.”

“No!” he tilted her face to his and kissed her forehead, her nose, her cheeks. “Don’t ever say that. Those letters kept me going, I was the idiot, I kept denying it, I kept trying to convince myself that nothing was happening. I was a selfish fool.”

She heard him swallow and felt his breaths coming fast and shallow. He was upset, unhappy and ashamed, forced to cope with the brutal truths of Krum’s attack. She forced her own breathing to calm and become even. A nagging doubt plagued the back of her mind, that learning all of this repulsed him but he felt too responsible and ashamed to let her go. Her logic told her this wasn’t so, her heart told her it wasn’t so. He was reaching into her and drawing out the pain, trying to take them away, trying to take them into himself.

Her chest hurt and her throat was sore and ready to close. She felt raw, as though she had been laid bare before him and so she had. Snape was stroking her hair again, filling her with the strength that she so desperately needed. Everything began to blur and her resolve for calm dissolved into a well of tears.

“He…” her voice caught, “I…I couldn’t get away.”

Snape lifted her hand to his mouth and held it there against his parted lips, she could feel his quick breaths fan ragged against it. He remained silent, he didn’t know what he could possibly say that could make this better. He didn’t realize that just being there was enough.

“I just kept thinking that I could try harder, fight harder, but I couldn’t, it was like my whole body was made of lead and I couldn’t do anything. I was useless.”

Snape tapped her knuckles against his mouth, his grip on her hand was so tight it hurt. When she could lift her head again to look at him she saw that his eyes were closed and he looked like a man in pain. The muscles in his neck and shoulders were tight, she could see them straining through the thin cotton of his shirt. His nostrils flared with every breath he took, but he held her hand securely in his own, as though he would never let it go.

“Hermione,” he whispered. His voice was tender and he said her name as though he loved her, but his face was hard and rigid and when he opened his eyes they were hard and black as coal. He looked distraught and disgusted, and she had no doubt that he was. She tried to pull her hand free, but he held it fast, pressing a kiss into her wrist.

She felt small and foolish then, not knowing how he felt, not understanding the complexity of his expression. “Are you happy now?” she asked with a touch of sarcasm directed solely at herself, “Are you happy you know it all.”

He wiped a tear from her cheek and then smeared the back of his hand across his own face, wiping his own tears away.” No, I’m not happy,” he said, his voice raw, “I am probably the most miserable piece of shit that ever walked the earth…but I am glad you told me.”

She sat up, pulling her hand free, her whole body trembling. “I should have stopped him,” she said irrationally. “I made all the wrong choices, one mistake after another. You must be disgusted by my lack of judgment. You must think me an idiot. You must think me vile!”

He sat up beside her and stroked his hand over her head and down her back. He looked at her, concerned, full of emotion and tenderness. “That is not what I think,” he said quietly, “I would never think that.”

“Then what do you think?” she asked bitterly, her voice shaking and she silently cursed herself, she was going to cry again. Perhaps she just needed to cry. Perhaps she needed to cry more than she needed to hear the truth of his opinion at that moment. Especially if his opinion was, as she suspected, one of repulsion and disgusted.

He gave her a small sad smile. “What I think is that I love you, and that you are most incredible woman I have ever met.”

~ ~ ~

Draco kept his hood over his head as he passed through the entrance of the oddly small marquee set up in the Salisbury plain. He had chosen Boxing Day for the simple fact that the day after Christmas was going to be quiet. He didn’t need people staring at him when he was trying to deal with this. The deserted marquee did not surprise him, and he sneered at the Aurors at the door who eyed him with suspicion.

He really couldn’t believe he was paying five Galleons to see his own father. The Ministry should have made a provision for relatives of the Death Eaters. Not that the Ministry really cared about the relatives of Death Eaters. Draco knew that he was regarded with suspicion simply because he still gave a good god damn about his Father’s fate. Had he behaved appropriately, he would have abandoned Lucius and set out to make a new life for himself. Either that or he should have died like most of his friends had. He, of course, had done neither. It simply wasn’t in Draco Malfoy to do what he was supposed to do like a good little boy. Well, not unless it could further his own cause.

Her wandered through the Dark Arts Artifacts with bored disinterest. He had been raised with far more impressive bits and pieces around him. From what he could see, the Curator would give his right ball to go through the old crap in Manors dungeons. That was if the Ministry hadn’t already found everything. He doubted they had. He didn’t care how good the Aurors were, the Manor would never give up its secrets that easily.

He lingered with the artifacts, looking at useless cursed mirrors, threadbare flying carpets, poisons, potions and various charmed objects. He knew he was just avoiding going into the next room, which was ridiculous because that was the only reason he had come here in the first place.

He had pulled himself out of bed early, leaving Harry to sleep, knowing that if he told Harry where he was going, Harry would try and talk him out of it. He really didn’t want to fight with Harry this morning. There would be time for that this afternoon and plenty of time to make up after that. He just had to get this one thing out of the way without a fight. So here he was. Now he was too scared to actually go in.

Not scared exactly, he just didn’t know if he was going to handle it well. He was thankful that there was no one around. If he did lose it, there would be no witnesses. Although he had perfected his Minor Obliviate charm just in case.

It was probably best to just take a deep breath and go on in. He nodded to himself, felt like a bit of an idiot, and drew a breath.

His father was at the far end of the room, he saw him immediately and he fixed his eyes on the pool of light and made straight for it. He refused to look around, refused to see what had become of the other people he had once known collectively as his “parents’ friends.” His only concern was to see his Father, slumped as he was in a glass case in the corner.

Once he had traversed the room, once he was in front of the case, he allowed himself to focus and really see the man inside. He released his breath and froze.

Lucius looked very much as he had on the front page of the Daily Prophet. Thin and fragile and a little frightened. He was leaning against the side of the case, his hair looked mussed, like a doll taken out for a game and hastily replaced. His hair was ridiculously long and Draco knew he’d hate it like that. It was so long it had started to curl at the ends, it was filling up the case.

Draco drew closer to the case and wandered around it, stopping at the point where his Father’s head and shoulder made heavy contact with the glass. He placed a hand against the case and splayed his fingers out across the area where his father’s shoulder was pressed. Less than a centimeter separated them and it may as well have been a chasm.

“Hi Dad,” he said quietly into the glass, “ how have you been?”

There was no answer. He didn’t expect one.

“I got my Christmas presents,” Draco smiled, “they were really great. I loved the broomstick.” He bowed his head, “It flies really well.” He swallowed and rested his forehead against the glass, so that he was essentially whispering in his father’s ear.

“I had guests for Christmas.” He paused and chewed his lip. He didn’t need to worry. It wasn’t as though Lucius was in any way capable of registering his disapproval. Still Draco shuddered, knowing that had Lucius still been in possession of his faculties, Draco would be disappointing him right now. “I, um, I had Harry and Hermione come and stay at the Manor for Christmas. You remember Hermione, um, she’s, um, a, um, M-Muggleborn.” He winced as though waiting for a good solid slap upside the head. None came. “And you know Harry, of course, Harry…P-Potter.”

Draco pulled back from the glass and stared at the side of his father’s head. Lucius didn’t move, there was no discernible reaction. At that moment he would have given everything he owned for Lucius to turn around and really yell at him for being a complete idiot. He realized foolishly that he was still wearing his hood and he pushed it back from his face.

“Actually,” he said carefully, gaining courage and momentum, “Harry and I are…we are…we are lovers. He is not what I thought he would be. This whole year is not what I thought it would be. So many people died, I was…” he stopped, he didn’t need to explain himself to his father, not now. “I know you wouldn’t be happy with me. Non keeps telling me that you wouldn’t approve. But I can’t help it. You have no idea what it is like being alive and being your son. I had no one, no friends, nothing except people who despise me because of my name and the fact that I am your progeny. They think I’m the spawn of the devil and who the fuck knows, I probably am. Why did you have to follow him? Why did you have to play sheep? You always told me to be proud and to be a leader and never follow anyone and look at what you did? You blindly followed someone to our ruin! You should have let me fight so I could have fucking died, you should never have left me here to deal with the shit you left behind.” Draco drew away, staring at the man in the case through rapidly blurring vision. “Then Hermione came along and offered her friendship. What was I supposed to do? Turn her down? And now she is so…important to me, and Harry…” Draco stopped and stared at his father desperately, “he loves me. He doesn’t care about you, or who I am, or the past or the war or any of the things he really should care about. He just loves me and I…”

There was movement. Draco couldn’t believe it but there was movement in the case. Slowly Lucius turned his head and one large grey eye met Draco’s astonished face. There was a moment of total clarity and Lucius Malfoy was there, staring at his son with complete comprehension.

~ ~ ~

Snape and Hermione had not slept. They spent the night wrapped in each other’s arms, talking about anything and everything that came into their minds, occasionally dozing and basking in the warmth of each other’s bodies. This was different to other times they had been together. Hermione was quite amazed because it brought her to mind of the first night they had spent together, locked in a store cupboard and playing a game of truth or dare. They had talked then as they had talked this night, gaining each other’s confidence, learning about the each other’s minds.

As dawn filtered through the windows they realized that they hadn’t even touched each other sexually for so much as a moment. (True, Snape had been tempted to try, especially after a moment at 2am when a screaming started down the hall which had almost roused them from the bed in a blind panic until Potter had started wailing “DON’T STOP, DON’T STOP, DON’T STOP” at the top of his lungs.) Now was not the time for sex, it was too soon for her, her body needed to recover.

The sun was already in the sky, lighting the crisp winter morning and they had been dozing for a short time when she woke him with a softly whispered “Severus?”

“Mmm?”

“Tell me a story.”

He laughed. “A story?”

“Yes. I want a true story.”

“Alright then, I will tell you a true story.”

“Is it a happy story?”

“Of course, it’s Christmas and you deserve a happy story.”

“Good.” She yawned quietly, “tell me a happy true story.”

“Once upon a time” said Snape, gently tracing one of the perfect curls that had fallen on to Hermione’s cheek, “there was a green Dragon and he ate a whole train full of obnoxious people.”

“Were they all Muggles?”

“Oh no,” Snape countered, “Not at all, I’d say there were a few Wizards on board; mostly Ministry officials.” Hermione laughed and snuggled closer to this chest and he continued. “Of course, the Dragon got a very bad case of indigestion that lasted for many weeks and so he eventually decided he needed some medicine. He strolled on his many legs to the nearest Apothecary and said, “I have indigestion and nausea”.”

Hermione began to giggle, “Is that your Green Dragon voice?”

“Yes, isn’t it very good?”

“It’s excellent, just what I imagine I Green Dragon would sound like.”

“I’m glad to hear it, now where was I?”

“Indigestion and nausea” Hermione giggled, doing her best impression of his Green Dragon voice.

”Ah yes, “What from?” asked the Apothecary.

“Oh just all the obnoxious people in this world” said the dragon and the Apocethary, after carefully considering the Dragons problem gave him some milk of magnesia. In two days, the Dragon was feeling better again so he ate another train full of the same sort of people. He felt worse than before and after weeks of suffering he went back to the Apothecary.  “Please help me Mr. Apothecary ”, he said. ”All the false people in this world make me terribly sick.”

The Apothecary  replied, “You must get over this terrible objection to the people in this world but I’ll give you some milk of magnesia anyway.”

The Green Dragon who was much fatter now as he had eaten two trains recovered in a few days. He was lying by the railway tracks when a train stopped right in front of him. He looked at it with his big brown eyes watching the people laughing long at their own jokes and posing around being completely false. He tried to control himself but he loathed these sorts of people so he lumbered over to the train and ate it which he almost completely digested due to his extremely strong digestive juices. Amongst the wreckage lay an old man who had just been in and out of a Dragon’s stomach and stood there, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Hello,” he said so sincerely that it nearly made one of the Dragons legs drop off.

The Dragon looked back in disbelief. “Hello with such sincerity?”

“Well” said the man. “We obviously don’t believe the other exists, so let’s go bowling.””

“That did not really happen!” Hermione declared.

“It most certainly did,” Snape assured her.

“How do you know?”

“Because Dumbledore told me, it happened to his brother Aberforth.”

“And what would Aberforth Dumbledore be doing on a train full of obnoxious people.”

“Well,” Snape smiled, “he’s a very odd man.”

“He’s very nice, he likes animals and…”

“His fascination for goats has nothing to do with being kind to animals.”

Hermione went to respond, then thought about it. “Oh,” she said, shocked.

Smiling playfully, Hermione rolled onto her stomach and peered into fathomless black eyes. She still couldn’t quite believe he was here, that he had been with her all night – that he loved her. He looked tired; his heavy eye lids looked as though they were aching to close. He did not look happy; there was a sadness to his features that came from the fact that she had been hurt when he should have been there to protect her. It was a conviction he would carry with him for the rest of his life. His face held another emotion, one she had never seen there. He looked content.

She kissed him, pressing hard against his body, surprised at her sudden hunger for him. She gently eased her hand up under his shirt and allowed her fingers to slide up over the smooth warm skin. She considered unbuttoning his trousers and pulling them down but she doubted her body would be able to handle love making yet.

He moaned into her throat.

She licked at his tongue and returned the moan.

“Don’t sweetheart,” he whispered gently. His cock was hardening, and he could already feel the overwhelming desire to drive up into her. Her narrow body was fragile at the moment, he couldn’t risk hurting her.

There was a knock at the door, a light tap and the door pushed open a little. Harry peered around the door and flushed. It was something he never thought he’d have to deal with, the sight of greasy, revolting Snape, in bed with one of his best friends. They were obviously clothed so Harry figured he should be thankful.

Hermione smiled at Harry, Snape just looked annoyed. He pushed himself up in the bed so that he was sitting. He really didn’t feel like dealing with Potter when lying flat on his back with a very obvious erection.

“Um, hi,” Harry flushed again, knowing he was intruding, but knowing he had to at that moment, he stepped into the room, “sorry for just barging in…”

”What is it Harry?” Hermione sat up, concerned, Harry must’ve known that Severus was here, so he wouldn’t come to the room unless it was necessary.

“Um, actually, I need to speak with you, Professor.” He tried to smile at the greasy git.

Snape scowled, “What is it Potter?” he asked, almost spitting the words out.

“It’s, um, it’s Draco. He’s gone to the Dark Arts Exhibition.”

Snape paled a little. He was under no illusions as to Draco’s mental state. It must be fragile, he was fucking Potter for Gods sake. The last thing he needed was to go and see his Father in that glass box. And what if he encountered the same sensations as Snape had in London? Would it send the boy completely over the edge? “Why didn’t you stop him?” he demanded.

Harry’s nostrils flared and his green eyes flashed dangerously. He forced himself to calm. “I couldn’t stop him, he left before I woke up. He won’t listen to me anyway, I already told him not to go, or at least not to go alone.”

“So what? Do you want me to go and get him?”

Harry flushed again. It should be Harry going to get his boyfriend, but he knew Draco would just resent the intrusion – and Draco listened to Snape when he obviously didn’t listen to Harry. He nodded awkwardly.

Snape sighed and cast a glance at Hermione. He really didn’t want to get out of bed. He wanted to stay here forever. Especially since he knew that leaving would mean he wouldn’t see her again until New Years. He had promised Minerva faithfully that he would be there to help and he meant to keep his word. Besides, he had his own plans to make. He kissed Hermione gently, fully aware that Potter was dry-retching inside. “Alright,” he said, glaring at Potter, “I’ll go and bring him back.”

~ ~ ~

“Dad?” Draco took another step back in horror. This was not possible, it just wasn’t. Then again, if anything was going to bring someone out of catatonia, telling them that their son was in a homosexual relationship with their arch nemesis would probably do it. “Dad, can you hear me?”

Lucius was already fading, the moment had passed. Draco stared at him, shocked into silence. Suddenly the air around him was filled with an incredible sound, like the beating of giant wings, gathering him up. Pulling him in towards the case and in his head he heard a voice, his fathers and yet not, crying out loud in agony.

“Dad?” He wrenched himself away from the case in fright, took another step back and heard another voice, one that was very much in the room. From behind someone breathed his name.

“Draconis.”

Draco distinctly felt the very tips of someone’s fingers brush over his hair, down his back and he shuddered and spun around.

Archibald Semeuse froze, his hand hovering in mid air. “You look just like him,” he breathed in wonder.

Draco frowned and pulled himself up to his full height. He smoothed down his robes and raised an eyebrow. “And you are?” he sneered.

The Curator smiled, genuinely fascinated, “Archibald Semeuse, Mr. Malfoy. I am the Curator of this exhibition.”

Oh yes, the bastard Draco sent monthly payments to. “I see,” Draco said crisply, “I am…”

“Draconis,” the Curator smiled. He raked his eyes over the young man’s form, aching to touch him, to stroke him and see if he felt as his father did, to see them both together. “Draconis Malfoy.”

“Draco,” Draco corrected. “It’s just Draco.”

A flush suffused the Curator’s features, “Draco then. It is a pleasure to meet you at last Draco Malfoy.” He offered his hand.

“I would prefer you call me Mr. Malfoy.” Draco shook the proffered hand and felt the urge to wash his own after touching it.

Semeuse smiled thinly. Draco looked him up and down haughtily, “I suppose I have you to thank for maintaining my father in this…” he looked from Lucius to the Curator with a  sneer, “condition.”

Once again Semeuse offered a thin smile. “And what Mr. Malfoy, would be the alternative? A cell at Azkaban? You have no idea of the condition in which I received him. You should be thanking me for his care.”

“I was close to settling with the Ministry to have them both returned home when this ridiculous exhibition was suggested. Now my mother is dead and my father is a carnival attraction – and I pay you for his care.” Draco returned the Curator’s thin smile, “I see no reason to thank you for anything.”

Semeuse felt a stirring in his loins. The boy was haughty and had an arrogance about him. Semeuse had been told stories of his Angels demeanor, his arrogance, his self satisfied superiority. Now he could see it animated and embodied in the Angels son. He was beautiful. As beautiful as his Father, younger, taller. The short hair suited him although Semeuse would have it long. He would have them both together. Entwined in each other’s limbs like two lost souls.

He could have him now. The museum was deserted and it wouldn’t take much. A partial bind. The Imperius curse. He was good with the Imperius.  He could do it with stealth and he needn’t draw his wand. He reached into his pocket and balled his hand over the handle of his wand and murmured the curse.

Draco felt something rush around him like a soft breeze and suddenly he felt extremely relaxed.

“Now, Mr. Malfoy,” Semeuse smiled, “Come here, I think we should get better acquainted.”

Draco felt as though he were on coasters because he was suddenly carried forward to the Curator

“You really are a beautiful boy,” Semeuse caressed Draco’s cheek, “so like your father.”

The curse had made Draco’s body somnolent, he could feel the strength ebbing from his muscles, relaxing him. The Curator was right, he was a beautiful boy. He knew that. Everyone knew that. But this didn’t feel right. He shouldn’t be feeling this relaxed right now. Semeuse slipped inside Draco’s mind and pushed gently. Pushed the doubt and resistance to the back, stroking the curse with his own brain, his own wants and twisted desires.

Absently he caressed Draco’s rigid shoulder. “You poor child,” he whispered, “you must have been so brave to continue all alone.” He stroked the smooth curve of Draco’s throat, feeling the flesh shudder beneath his touch. He unbuttoned the top of Draco’s robes and slid his hand beneath the black fabric, letting his fingers stray over the smooth mass of chest and caressed a pale pink nipple.

“You want to be with your father, don’t you? You miss him, you want him? I can make that happen Draco, I can have you both together for all eternity.”

With a light finger he traced the line of Draco’s soft mouth. The boy’s lips were so pale, so delicately lined, beneath the collarbone he could see a love bite, a reddish bruise, purpled at it’s centre. The boy had probably spent his morning fucking some girl, a girl who knew he had come here. He slipped back into Draco’s brain and searched carefully and found the sleeping form of a boy (how delightful) as Draco slipped from the room. So the lover had no idea where he had gone. Semeuse smiled and slid his finger between Draco’s lips stroking Draco’s pink tongue. He felt his cock harden as he imagined this wetness wrapped around him and leaning in, he replaced his finger with his tongue, tasting Draco’s sweet spit.

Every nerve in Draco’s body suddenly came alive, he tensed and coiled, flying backwards and slamming into his father’s case. He pressed his back hard against the glass, chin lifted, his nostrils flared wide. Every part of his body seemed to tremble in horror. His eyes met the Curator’s and held his stare, his eyes wide and horrified and as dark gray as a coming storm.

Semeuse held the look for a long moment. Then he allowed his gaze to flick past Draco and rest on the Angel. He smiled, returning his attention to the boy. He smiled, pushed a little deeper into Draco’s mind and stepped forward. Pushing strands of pale hair from Draco’s brow he murmured quietly, “You will stay here. You will come, and you will drown in my bed. You will writhe and moan beneath the ministrations of my mouth. You will stay here with your father.”

Draco nodded, a tiny nod, not understanding, wishing he knew how to fight this. The Curator’s mouth clamped down over his and sealed it. Siamese’s tongue cleaved to his, tasting bitter and dead and carrying none of Harry’s sweetness. Siamese’s dry touch spidered down his body, finding their way beneath his robes and sort his groin. He felt the touch in the very depths of his body and he shuddered. He began to choke

The air in the room suddenly echoed with a resounding CRACK and the glass of the case behind Draco suddenly fractured. Semeuse stepped back. His eyes widened, his gaze darting quickly from Draco to his father. It had to be the boy who did it, and if it was then he was more powerful than Semeuse could ever have expected from one so young. Given the curse and the bind, the boy should be incapacitated. Draco was breathing hard, his chest heaving.

“Trying to stop me Draco?” Semeuse smiled, “what have you to return to? A boy in a bed? Who is he to you? Nothing. This is the only family you have.”

Harry, Draco had Harry. The name came to him forcefully, cutting through the haze, and he struggled against the bind. Semeuse laughed and moved back in to claim his prize.

The case exploded. Shattering suddenly and blowing outward, showering the room in glass and embedding shards in the floor, the walls, into Semeuse himself, but miraculously missing Draco who had been pressed against it.

Semeuse cried out in pain, spinning away from the radiating fractures of glass, covering his face.

Draco drew breath, the curse fading from his body, he felt his will returning, the ability to move, he stumbled heavily against what was left of the pedestal.

Without the support of the glass, Lucius toppled backwards, flipping over and landing in a heap on the floor. Draco struggled to get to his Father, lifting him and staring into the gray eyes, once more intelligent and aware.

“D-D-r-a-c-o,” Lucius’ voice was dry and cracked, he breathed harshly, his heart was thumping in his chest, “r-run.”

Draco tried to lift him, wanting to carry him out and suddenly a hand grabbed his arm. He turned, fearing it was the Curator again, but the Curator had fled, searching for the Aurors. The man behind him was Snape.

“You can’t get him out now, we have to get out of here.”

Draco turned desperately back to his father, “he…he…sp…he spo...”

“We’ll come back, but we have to work out what is going on first.” Snape looked around wildly, “Come on, we have to hurry, the Aurors are coming.”

“We’ll come back,” Draco told Lucius, pressing a kiss into his father’s forehead, “I promise we’ll get you out of this.”

But Lucius was gone again, dissolved back into whatever stupor bound him. Snape pulled desperately on Draco’s arm and he released his father, leaving Lucius amongst the broken glass as he turned and fled with Snape.

Chapter 11 >>